The Different Shades of Silver
by DenizenofTwilight
Summary: AU. When it is revealed that the unicorns of the Targaryens have special properties about them, Cersei is quick to acknowledge that power. When a war is started with them, it sends Dany on a quest to find her Silver, but it might very well be Arya that holds the key to everything. As Arya learns many truths, and Daenerys makes her rounds, the two girls aim to put an end to the war.


**Author's Note: First off, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DANIELLE! I love you so much, honey. And I really hope you like this story I wrote you (though I'm sort of unsure about it myself). As you got me into Game of Thrones, I thought it only appropriate I wrote you a GoT story for your birthday, and I hope it doesn't fail as a birthday present. LOL.**

**Anyway, I hope you can understand this story. It's AU (and the Arya segments should explain what's going on), but sorry if you're still a bit confused. It was hard fitting what could have been a multi-chapter story into one chapter, but I thought it was best to make it AU, since you've only watched the first season (and even then the series is sort of hard to follow).**

**If you have questions, just let me know. Love you!**

**-Shanna**

**P.S. Hopefully, this will make you an Arya and Gendry shipper;) And sorry for any mistakes. Though I've checked this over a million times, there's probably some I missed in A) being too close to this story to catch it all. And B) in my rush to get this up on time. Yeah…**

**The Different Shades of Silver**

"Lady Daenerys! Lady Daenerys!" Platinum blond hair fell over said "Lady's" shoulder, as she turned about to see a wailing woman of auburn hair running towards her. At once—though Dany had only but a few seconds to take it all in—she could make out that Sansa was crying; more to it than that, Daenerys could plainly tell by her affronted expression, that Sansa did not value the fact she had submitted to tears. Sansa Stark was growing into a woman, indeed, but it pained Dany to know that Sansa might soon have to go through the trials she herself had.

Though her blood was true—the staple of her pale features and namesake—Daenerys was really was no one worth trifling with anymore. Still... perhaps that was the reason so many people had flocked to her and her Drogo. When one lost faith in all of their world powers, whom did they go to but fairytale saviors?

"Sansa, what ails you?" Daenerys asked the weeping girl, as she caught her in her arms, and tried her best to give her comfort. Really, though, Daenerys wondered if her actions were really uplifting at all. After all, despite her vibrato, she was very much different now that she was without her husband (or more accurately, her sun-and-stars).

Shaking her head to rid it of its distractions, Daenerys was more or less surprised when she returned to reality to see Sansa doing the same. Her lips working to make an "o" shape, Daenerys realized that the Maester girl was having a war with herself. Even in such dire situations, and everything she'd been through... Sansa wasn't one to drop the courtesies that had been bred in her and just speak plainly. Even more odd, the words Sansa did end up deciding on weren't what Daenerys had expected at all. "If it pleases your grace for me to say, I fear that the breastplate you adorn doesn't cover your chest well enough, m'lady. Should an arrow-"

"Should someone get close enough to me to see there is a place they might send their cursed arrow, they won't have eyes for much longer, I assure you," Daenerys snapped accidentally at Sansa, forgetting that the girl usually chose to remain oblivious to such things, and that really all of this hatred she felt for this war and the loss of her Drogo... belonged to herself and no one else.

Pressing a somewhat trembling Sansa's head to her chest to calm her, Daenerys patted the younger woman on the arm; as she stroked Sansa's hair, she tried not to think about how she'd once cleaned and braided her late husband's- "Sansa, what grave news have you brought to me? I swear it on the old Gods and new, that if anyone has sought to harm that lovely face of yours, I will deliver to them fifty times what they have given you-"

"Arya. Cersei has taken Arya hostage, and all for her having said your Silver mare wasn't something to be laughed at."

Yes, what Daenerys' people called "the Unicorn that danced about Westeros", had started all of this, hadn't they? And though Daenerys meant to comfort Sansa in whatever way she could, she did have to admit that everything that had happened had been partly the young Arya Stark's doing. It had been in saying that Daenerys' mount, and those like it, weren't a force to jest at, that Cersei had taken note of just how much they could be worth to other kingdoms. And though the war with silver had begun with silver horses, it had developed into grayer colors than that. Much more than that.

Thinking on gray and red, Daenerys reclined with Sansa in their temporary sanctuary, and asked that the petrified Gods of the Chrome Spiral, would come to life, and defend and revive what had been so wrongly taken from the world.

...

_"Don't you be telling Syrio that I came down this way!" growled the voice of a shorthaired girl with brunette hair. Though... whether or not her hair color consisted mostly of a brown pigment, or dirt, was yet to be seen. _

_As Arya currently had dirt speckled on her cheek, Jon was inclined to think it was the latter. "What? Teach your Master in sewing that you'd much sooner take up sewing others' wounds instead? Why little sister, I think Syrio would be very much hurt by that. It's not as though both require use of his craft, after all."_

_To be fair, Arya's job at ramming her fists on his shoulders happened about as soon as Jon had expected. Laughing, as he mussed his little sister's hair (as her attacks were ineffectual at best, much to her chagrin), he thought she was probably going to murder him first, or kiss his face when he explained, "You have not the right of it, Arya. What is a needle, but a tiny little sword? Do you think my first weapon was a long sword? No. Listen to Syrio and take up wielding a needle like you might a blade. It'll help you out in the long run." Almost giving up the ghost by smiling crookedly at Arya, Jon began mucking the nearby stable mainly to keep his half-sister off the scent, and half because it really was his duty to make sure the soon to be Lady-Maesters would have accommodating stables for their guests' mounts. _

_Still, proving once again just how much he knew his sister, her wide-eyed and sporadic answer came about as soon as _Jon _had expected it. She really had been hanging around Sansa too much, and as the birds' overhead sang a melancholy song, Jon thought they had to be agreeing. After all, "Sansa" and "Song" sounded alike, did they not? _

_"Syrio was your Master at Arms? Oh, Jon! Why hadn't you told me sooner?! I fear I've ruined his impression of me indefinitely. I should have been quiet as a whisper, and all that other nonsense you said when he was training you. Now he'll never take me as an apprentice, seeing me like- Hey!"_

_Kissing Arya's forehead half to shut her up, and half because he truly loved his little sister, Jon picked the far too thin Arya up with little to no difficulty, and after putting her safely in a corn loft, he set to work with his chores. Still, he thought Arya could be a bit less of a nuisance as he worked (as the chore he was doing was _for_ her), but perhaps one's efforts being invisible was what it truly meant to be a Bastard... Not that Arya would ever agree with that, though (which was why Jon had never told her his feelings on his status), knowing her, she probably would have just said the entire world was stupid, and then threaten to pounce on anyone who treated Jon badly, despite the damage that would do to her new title._

_"Arya," Jon cut her off, before the telltale sound of her tapping feet in the cornstalk led her to chat-chat-chattering away. "Don't be so downtrodden, alright? What will it say of the 'new, proud, strong and brilliant women in the world', if their new representative-_

_"But I'm not their representative am I?! That's the fatheaded, and full of words, Sansa who is..." Getting right in Arya's face, and going as far as to run his hands through her hair nicely this time, Jon was about to tell Arya that that hadn't been what she'd said the last time she'd spoken of Sansa, but his words died in his throat when he saw a silver horse flying in the air; it was careening in such a way that he almost thought it meant to block out the sun._

_Cool night air stirring up the dust and wind around him (and making him feel as though he was choking), Jon suddenly felt very superstitious. Putting an arm under Arya's, he was about to try and usher his favorite sibling out of harm's way, but the point ended up being moot when Daenerys' horse, Silver, turned out to be the assailant. The moment it landed on even more upturned dirt (further adding fire to Jon's lungs), it trotted over to Arya in a sort of pride and modesty that only the Dothraki's finest could ever dream of doing. _

_His worries and suspicions drowned for a moment (as he knew this horse of the nice peasant, Daenerys, quite well), Jon meant to just revel in the sweet scene of one odd color loving another; somehow, Arya's dirty, and dark hair worked well with the pristine beast before her. However, fear still settling in his heart and making him feel craven, Jon wasn't at all sure when Arya said. "Spun gold is for the lame. I believe silver is what really should hold precedence over the realm. After all, these horses are the most majestic and capable beings in the world."_

_Standing there, watching Arya kiss Silver's neck lovingly, Jon felt a strange sense of foreboding, but even then he had no idea that this would be the last time he'd see his sister. He had no idea that a war would break out stealing the visionary Arya from him, and through it all, what he'd crave the most... Would be the feel of his little sister's kiss on his cheek. At least that would mean she was safe. _Arya_..._

...

The taste of blood was in Caetlyn's mouth, in a similar way to how the sheen of silver went with war. How many? How many more days did they need to fight like this? How many days had it been since Sansa had first appeared telling the refugees that Arya had been taken? Needless to say, Caetlyn Stark was sick of the stench of the war, and she was a hair's breadth away from being sick of everything. _Oh, Arya…_

Taking up Sansa in her arms, after Daenerys went looking for her horse as a way to end it all, Cat had to admit she'd really begun thinking of her daughter's friend, Sansa, as her own, since Arya had... Perhaps it was wrong that Caetlyn thought she only felt for Sansa, because it was all of Arya she had left, but still… Caetlyn would take what she could get. In a world where any sort of relief was few and far between, in a world where Caetlyn always had to be strong... She would do what she could to feel better just this once.

"No! Caetlyn, you mustn't take up fighting yourself! Lady Daenerys was driven to insanity by the loss of her husband, m'lady. She has no chance of taking on Cersei, now that she has Arya's golden ideas at her disposal. It'll be useless to-"

"Oh, sweet thing," Caetlyn said, as her hair mixed with Sansa's to show that not all hues of red had to equal blood. To the contrary though, Caetlyn knew she would easily take up blood and arms if it saved her daughter. If only… But as long as she had Ned at her side, Caetlyn knew that all would be fine. "You mustn't worry. Though I fear it will be quite the journey for Dany to get to her horse, she is right in believing this could all be ended by Silver. If I must, I will detract from my plan to go after Arya with Ned, and aid Daenerys instead, but... If Dany cannot bring about an answer to all of this, no one can. And you mustn't worry; even under pressure, my genius Arya is not one to give Cersei any sort of aid-"

"And Gendry-" In the end, whatever Sansa was about to say about Gendry was never said. Looking back on it, Caetlyn would always remember how the slip of a girl had grabbed onto her, with bulging eyes, before her throat was silt right in front of Caetlyn's very eyes. If Caetlyn had thought that her own bleeding from coughing up blood had been anything to contend with a moment ago, it was nothing compared to how it was to scream Sansa's name in shock, and try to catch the girl as she fell, fell fell.

In her peripheral vision, Caetlyn thought that an explosion might have blasted nearby (as she saw a bright flash of yellow), and truth be told, if Sansa was dying from being stabbed, or the explosion, she could not say. Everything was happening so fast! Even faster, perhaps, were the shadows Caetlyn and Sansa's forms made upon the backdrop of the bright yellow. As one polar opposite bled into the other, Caetlyn wondered if maybe it would have been best to agree to listen to Cersei's commands and conform, after all. What had they-

"Lady Daenerys..." Her eyes ripping from Sansa's regretfully (yet almost believing it had to _be_ Sansa saying such a thing now), it took Caetlyn a moment to understand the emotion behind the voice asking for Dany. It was—what was the proper word for it?—amazed, perhaps? Yes, it _was_ amazed, but somehow so much else, too.

At the sound of boots echoing on the ground louder and louder, and the strange scent of ice growing closer and closer, Caetlyn was able to see clearly who had approached. More than that, she was able to understand why the person was using such a tone. The whinny of Silver proving that Daenerys Targaryen had, in fact, returned, Caetlyn thought she very well might have a heart attack long before she even had a chance to use her blade, because...

Jon Snow was standing in front of her.

By the will of the people, and his connection to Daenerys, the Bastard had become the chosen King of the realm (not that Cersei was one to listen to the citizens' views to accommodate them). However, her personal feelings about Jon aside, Caetlyn knew that this shouldn't have been possible at all for him to have been there. It couldn't have! After the shock of what had happened to Arya, he'd been believed to be dead! And yet… And yet he was standing before Dany, as if he'd been there all along. Though if anything, a surprised tone should have been awarded Jon of all people, it was Jon Snow who was using it for Daenerys.

It took Caetlyn but a moment to understand why. Sansa was alive and well again, but at a price. Daenerys had assimilated with her Silver (like any true Targaryen had the ability to), but as her platinum hair was turned to silver, Caetlyn understood that this would probably kill Daenerys in the end. Targaryens _always_ had ashen hair. There was never an exception, and now-

"But this was a terrible thing to do, Daenerys!" Caetlyn was shouting and sobbing, before she could stop herself, as she fell to the stone floor, and pounded her hands on the ground with everything she had. She knew she wasn't at all being the quaint lady she'd ordered Arya to be (and how glad she was Arya hadn't listened to her, and through her toughness might could escape her captor!), but as it was...

Caetlyn had had far more than enough of hard rock and the things that came from it. Whether they simply created weapons, or heartless people, was up to each individual. "If this does indeed kill you, Dany. It will be through Drogo's wedding gift to you tha-"

Smiling faintly, but with such little movement to her dimples that Caetlyn could see how weak she was already becoming, Daenerys muttered. "And perhaps that's the way it's meant to be. I never should have lived long after my Drogo. Especially not when his condition was my fault. But even so, at least I was able to help Jon Snow. At least there is that."

And as Jon Snow hugged Daenerys to himself lovingly, Caetlyn thought he must have been more than grateful that Daenerys had been in his life, too.

...

"That was a terrible idea, you stupid meathead, you!" Gendry sighed, as he ran with Arya slumped over his shoulder. It hadn't been his choice to pretend to be Jon Snow to save the almost-psychic-little-girl. And if Cersei didn't always want to outdo Daenerys as much as she was able, none of this would have ever happened. And, if Arya wasn't a stubborn, and bad-mouthed-girl who liked to insult someone thoroughly, if need be (even if only to herself, or the person _pretending_ to be her target), things would also be much easier.

The real kick was that Arya knew well that Gendry wasn't her brother, but since she was as brilliant in her anger as fire was (perhaps that was how she was so brilliant; perhaps her ideas were like gold purified through flames, but then again, purifying gol- err, silver was the problem to begin with, wasn't it?), and thought Gendry also was a "meathead"… and likely to mess up like Jon had, she was reading him the riot act.

"What was that moron thinking, in testing out a theory he'd read somewhere about Dany's Silver? No wonder he was so paranoid the first time I met the beast! And now you tell me using its spirit power led to the death of Dany's Drogo- Well, it's a good thing Cersei doesn't know that! Otherwise she'd be using that to kill all of you loons, and if I'd accidentally said something about- Wait, what am I saying? Despite me talking aloud in front of Cersei, and getting myself into this mess, it's still Dany and Jon who are to bla-"

"Will you just shut up, _Arry_? Believe it or not, I could leave you here, you know? I worked for Cersei before this, and I'm likely to get my head lopped off before we even cross-"

"But you were just mesmerized by my trapped eyes, weren't you?"

There was a beat of silence after that, as Gendry reflected on Arya's words (and thought of all the things he could say to contest them, but found he really didn't want to). Like it or not, the Stark girl had the right of it in many ways; still… he had to laugh in realizing she was a much better seductress in just acting like the tomboy, then she was when she actually tried.

And as he didn't enjoy being slowed down by others, Gendry supposed he would fancy a woman who could hold her own with a sword; though none of those thoughts really had merit, as Arya was properly too young for him. And he—though having forsaken all honor he'd once sworn to—wouldn't dare forget their age difference, when he was with the little, trusting girl this very moment.

She was a remarkable one, Arya Stark. But it was for her wits that Gendry found he liked her most. "You're not very good at flaunting your girlish charms, Arya Stark. Now stop talking of such things, and do me a favor, girl. Tell me why you're ingenious enough to be called 'Maester.'"

Surprisingly, at what Gendry thought to be inoffensive words, Arya was suddenly clawing at Gendry's neck like a creature possessed, and demanding in a shrill voice that he release her. Doing just that (he fancied the way his neck and shoulders met, thank you very much), Gendry held onto Arya's arm, but just that. Still, it was enough for him to dig his own nails into her forearm, and slam her into the cave wall, in an attempt to shake the temporary insanity from her.

Gendry worried for a moment that the sound (even though it was in that of a secret underground cavern), would be enough to alert Cersei of their movements at once, and bring down a hundred soldiers on them at best. Still, as Gendry looked in the haunted eyes of Arya—when her crazy movements weren't making him shake the torch like a lantern—he knew he'd made the right choice in saving her. For all of Arya's vibrato of everything being Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen's fault, it was clear to Gendry that she really festered held the blame for her capture (and the war, most likely) in her own heart. More than that: she was a scared little girl who, though strong, was still but a child.

Lessening his hold on Arya slightly, Gendry met Arya's fleeting gaze with his own resolved eyes, and compelled her to explain everything. But even when she began speaking, it was no answer to Gendry, nor was it the spilling of emotion that he'd thought it would be. Instead, it explained why the stubborn Arya was the head female Maester, but also much, much more. "Horses have many legends dedicated to them, have you ever heard? Some say their forms can be that of children of the Gods. Some say they're meant to be the companions of man, even more so than a hound. But one thing all legends have in common is that they're always killed through someone else's actions. I suppose, then, that it was no big jump for my brother and his girl, and-"

"That witch, Cersei," Gendry added for Arya, as he cleaned up some of the blood he'd just left on her arm, and smiled at her softly. As all sound ceased for a moment, and Gendry could almost taste the words Arya's meant to make with his own tongue, he had to reflect that she was a good storyteller, but he wasn't as green as to get chills from her icy words.

Instead, he had momentarily stopped her, because as it was becoming more and more clear that… Arya held a certain power herself... And so, Gendry didn't want to once think that Arya was anything like the evil Cersei. And as sad as it was to say, even though Gendry had just acted to keep Arya from having a fit a moment ago... The fact remained that he had imagined blood-adorning Cersei more and more as he'd come to know Arya. It was not fitting, then, that he'd just made Arya bleed in much the same way. The only blood he wrought… should have been from Cersei.

So even though Gendry knew he was halting what would most likely be a spectacular tale, he found he couldn't let Arya continue with blood on her arm. He could not continue like that. And so, as he moved to clean her face like a crazy person (perhaps the war had brought about insanity in him, too), Gendry thought he very well might cry in trying to clean the claw marks in Arya's arm (that he himself had made), but it was nothing compared to the feelings he felt course through him when Arya grabbed onto his hands—more gently than Gendry was now touching her—and explained, "The Gods figured out, then, that horses will always do their master's bidding no matter what, and that we humans can take the powers that were bestowed on them. The God of war, Aires, put a spell on them to stop this, you see. He knew he needed them in war—though he regretted it immensely—so after too many were lost, he put a protection spell on them, but even that wasn't enough to protect them, it seems.

"Now, as I was born under the star Aires," _As you're much too fierce for a girl your age_, Gendry's mind added in of its own accord, as the rest of him numbly led Arya towards the cave exit, and continued to massage her injured forearm. "As I was born under the star of Aires, I can set right what he, and I—in unintentionally optioning these horses for war—did wrong."

Leaning into the embrace Arya was giving him, as Gendry soon found it was _he_ leaning on Arya now (for all of the information she'd just afforded him was crippling him with its weight), Gendry was happy to feel a sort of warmth growing within him around Arya. More than that, he was delighted to be able to still shove her shoulder, and have her punch him in the face in return. At least some things hadn't changed, then...

But even better: As the smell of leaves, flowers, and cattails alerted Gendry to the meadow they'd just came to, he understood, then, how everything was going to be set right. As a silver mare ran up to Arya, and beckoned _her _to nuzzle its face, Gendry fell back into the tall, tall grass and laughed, as it scratched up his leg (perhaps in accordance for him accidentally harming Arya). Everything was going to be balanced out now, wasn't it?

After all, as if to show that it was Cersei that needed to be enslaved like a horse soon... The eyes of the Unicorn were the same color and shape as the evil queen's were.

And Gendry... He felt better, and better for all the choices he'd made; he felt better then he had in a long time.

And turning out to be the ace Gendry knew had to be coming for them all along, Ned Stark appeared in the grassy paradise, too. Leaning back in the greenery, and relaxing for the first time in too long, Gendry couldn't believe his luck. It didn't look like he'd gotten Ned killed in trying to save Arya, after all, did it

Yes, Gendry definitely felt good. And the pearl sounding laughter, from the still emotionally scarred Arya, made him feel best of all.

...

"Arya, Arya!" Daenerys exclaimed, after the adrenaline for losing most of her strength wore off, and she felt instead like she could walk through fire again. But that couldn't be, could it? She'd made a deal to take on the Gods' guardians' strength, and it was meant to have killed her immediately. Since she'd always been strong, she'd been able to avert it temporarily, but... But somehow, Arya had succeeded, hadn't she?

As the enemies of Cersei's had completely overrun Daenerys' temporary sanctuary, Daenerys had thought that all hope was lost, but now... The goddess girl, Arya, had brought about this miracle, hadn't she? Power always recognized power, and since Daenerys beard the fire and silver of the mounts Aires wore into battle… perhaps she and Arya were connected more than Dany had ever even dreamed.

"What? Why are you speaking of Arya to the soldiers you dispatche-" In the end, Sansa never got to finish her words in concern for Daenerys. This time, though, it had nothing to do with her receiving a near fatal injury. Sneaking up upon Sansa, one more soldier _had_ appeared out of the rubble Daenerys' fire had created; the said soldier had been about to attack Sansa—Daenerys summoning a fireball just in time to fight him if needed—but it ended up being for naught.

Even before Sansa fell to the ground to give him a proper kick, the soldiers were already disappearing, as if they'd never been there to begin with; and Daenerys knew well of young Arya's belief in supernatural occurrences, Daenerys didn't doubt that Arya had somehow created just this. And though her heart thundered in her chest, and she desired for revenge, for all that had been taken from her, like Ser Jorah, perhaps… Perhaps it was best that time for the soldiers would just simply be reset.

And even if everyone else forgot, too (though Daenerys had the strangest feeling that they wouldn't, and her inklings were usually right), she knew that no matter what happened, she would make sure she remembered her and Jon's burden no matter what. Where Aires had failed to fix his mistakes, at this second chance, Daenerys knew she'd hold it well; she would hold it to shepherd humanity towards a good future. But most of all, She would cling to who had been meant to be the true leader all along. Her Drogo. And, perhaps in doing that… Maybe she and her people _would_ be leaders once again.

As all of Cersei's men disappeared in a _whooshing_ sound, much like the sounds Arya made when playacting sword fighting... Daenerys smiled, as Gendry, Arya, and Ned filed in, and were reunited with a weeping Caetlyn, Sansa, and Jon. She also felt quite uplifted when Arya came forward to brush Daenerys' own horse (properly named Silver).

But Daenerys felt the most joy she ever had since Drogo, when she saw Arya surprise Jon and kiss him on the cheek. She also particularly felt good when Jon surprised her from behind, and snaked his arms around her waist. And maybe, just maybe… The girl with the blood of fire calmed down just a bit to return Jon's embrace.

Outside, sunlight filtered in through the fortress, and turned even Daenerys' hair gold. Yes, she'd had enough of fights for money, and the sheen of weapons. What they all needed now, was the yellow of the sun, and the golden streets of heaven and peace.


End file.
